


Deadly Force

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suzanne is forced to use deadly force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deadly Force

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in To Life Immortal #5, Nancy Klauschie editor, then reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #17 both under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"This is a war, and I'm a soldier of sorts."_

 

Harrison Blackwood crouched behind one of the abstract pieces of set design near the center of the Arlington Theater stage.  The oddly angled flats and rhomboids were scattered around the large, dimly lit stage floor, reminding him of something out of a German Expressionist film.  Crouched a yard in front of him, Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse tried to locate his target in the shadowy light and confusion.  The M9 Beretta the man carried swung slowly in an arc as the soldier searched for the two aliens they both knew were there, hiding in the shadows.

Blackwood thought it nothing less than a miracle that they were still alive.  A miracle compliments of one half-Cherokee Special Forces Colonel whose battle-sense was far more accurate than Blackwood's scientific curiosity.  They hadn't the slightest expectation of running into aliens in the old Santa Barbara theater, but somehow Ironhorse had sensed something amiss as soon as they had entered.

The Blackwood Project members and their security force had driven down to the smallish Southern California community as a group the day before.  Blackwood instigated the trip, wanting an opportunity to speak to Demitri Natoras, a man who'd been involved with a group similar to Clayton Forrester's Ezekiel Project.  The others, although interested in what the man might be able to tell them about the aliens, were more interested in spending some time on a well-deserved vacation.

Demitri Natoras had been born in Rumania.  A well-known physicist in European academic circles, he was working in France when Adolph Hitler came to power.  He fled back to Rumania, intending to help his family escape to Switzerland, but he was too late.  At the end of the war, he was found by Soviet troops before he located the American lines.  Missing the opportunity to escape to the United States as had many of his colleagues from the European academy, Natoras soon found himself in Moscow, helping to develop the Soviet's nuclear arsenal.

In 1953, when the aliens launched their attack, Natoras led a team of Soviet scientists who, like Clayton Forrester, studied the invaders as best they could with the meager governmental assistance and cooperation they received.  After the aliens succumbed to Earth's bacteria, and the Cold War replaced the War of the Worlds, Natoras's files were seized and his research terminated.

But Natoras never forgot the aliens, or the threat they represented.  He bided his time, earning an advantageous position at a small university in East Germany.  From there, he eventually escaped to the West.  After several years, living in Scotland, he and his Gaelic wife immigrated to the United States.  Now widowed, the eighty-eight-year-old spent his time as a set-painter for the Santa Barbara Community Theater.

Harrison had found an article on Natoras while reading through a special issue of his theoretical physics journal, one dedicated to those men and women who had helped develop the first atomic bombs.  In the interview, Natoras mentioned research he'd conducted that was far more important than his inquiries into atomic energy, research that: "began in 1953, but was quickly forgotten in humanity's rush away from the unknown."

Turning the information over to their resident computer expert yielded a thin governmental file on Natoras and his work for the Soviet Union.  The article mentioned the retired scientist lived in Santa Barbara, about six hours down the coast from the Project, and Norton had no difficulty locating his address and place of employment.  Blackwood was thrilled and immediately scheduled the trip, hoping Natoras could fill in some of the blanks in Clayton's notes.

Team microbiologist Suzanne McCullough was looking forward to the quasi-working vacation as a chance to spend some "quality" time with her daughter, Debi. After all, the annual Santa Barbara Fiesta celebration boasted the largest non-motorized parade in the U.S., and there were rodeos, horse shows, and several music and craft festivals scheduled over the five-day period to keep them busy.  With guaranteed good weather there would also be an opportunity for some sunbathing or swimming, and perhaps she'd rent a small sailboat and take Debi out into the channel.  She spared a few worries over the city's on-going drought, but decided she was going to have a good time, one way or another.

Norton Drake was almost as excited as Debi about the trip.  One of his sisters, Alliah, had won a scholarship that allowed her to attend the University of California at Santa Barbara.  She was in the second year of a mathematics and computer science master's program.  Besides, he still had friends in the area, people he'd met during his visits to Alliah, and he had every intention of looking them up for some serious fun.

Harrison teased the man for days before they left.  "Well, now that we know there's a better-looking Drake out there, with the same qualifications, your job might be up for grabs."

Drake took the jibes in the spirit in which they were intended, passing the teasing along to the Colonel, threatening that if he and Alliah ever got together they could crack even the most secure governmental computer, including the one he was sure all of Ironhorse's more interesting records were stashed in.  The comment earned him one of the soldier's patented glares.

The Colonel was the least enthusiastic about the trip.  It was hard enough to keep the three adult civilians and Debi safe when they were at the Cottage, but with all of them loose in a community of 73,000 – and next door to a second community of 75,000 – each of them going in different directions, security was going to be a nightmare, to say the least.

Ironhorse felt better once he finally coerced the members of the Project into accepting the fact that they were going to have a two-man Omega escort, whether or not they liked it.  The elite, highly-trained soldiers would wear civilian clothes, carry concealed weapons, and follow the team members at all times, keeping them in sight, but not interfering with their activities – unless invited to do so.

The three civilians resented the measure, and made it abundantly clear, but they agreed to the condition in order to escape the Cottage for a few days.  After all, they had been dedicated 110% to fighting the aliens for over a year with little or no respite.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

They left the Cottage, driving south along the coast; the scenery helped to raise all their spirits.  It was August, but the heat had abated over the last two days, leaving it just slightly balmy with a hint of the ocean breeze.  In fact, it could rightly be called perfect.  As they continued, the inviting indigo of the Pacific became a louder and louder call.  To everyone's surprise, it was the Colonel who finally suggested that they stop to eat their lunch on the beach.  Debi squealed with delight.

Mrs. Pennyworth had packed enough food to feed all of them and an additional squad as well.  The Omegans were nearly as thrilled as Debi, but they managed to bury their excitement behind their duties whenever Ironhorse was looking.  And the Colonel made a concerted effort not to look too often; they needed a break as much as the others.

Ironhorse led the way to the sand, carrying the picnic baskets, followed by Suzanne and Debi, each carrying a large blanket.  Harrison and Stavrakos helped carry Norton down while the computer expert provided a non-stop series of navigational suggestions that nearly resulted in the threesome plunging headlong down the small hill above the beach.  The Omegans searched the area while Ironhorse scouted a location protected from the road by an overhanging section of shoreline cliff.  The location also gave him and the soldiers a clear view of the beach in both directions.

Suzanne and Debi spread the blankets, then set out the lunch with Norton's help. Alverez volunteered to stay behind with the vehicles, claiming he was allergic to sand.  The Colonel nodded, suppressing a grin.  The man was Southwest desert born and bred, and he'd never been overly comfortable with large bodies of water.  The squad gathered around one of the blankets and ate in companionable silence, while on the other blanket, Debi kept the four adults busy between bites with questions ranging from oceanography to astronomy, climatology to California history.  Amazingly, between the four of them, they were able to field all the girl's questions.  But it was Ironhorse who surprised the others, his range of answers not only accurate, but varied enough to actually rankle Blackwood.  The curly-haired Californian was comfortable with the stereotype of soldiers that equated military intelligence to an oxymoron, but Ironhorse had never fallen well into that particular pigeonhole.

With her lunch consumed, Debi asked permission to go down to the surf.  Suzanne looked at Ironhorse, expecting him to veto the idea, pack up, and continue on their trip, but he merely nodded his permission.  Suzanne's eyebrows arched in surprise, but she smiled at her daughter, saying, "Okay, sweetheart, but don't get wet."

"I won't," Debi promised.  "I just want to see if I can find some shells."

Suzanne shook her head as she watched her daughter run down to the surf-line. "Thank you," she said to the Colonel.  "She needs this sort of thing."

"We all do," Harrison added.

"Boy, that's the truth," Drake concurred, reaching for a second piece of Mrs. Pennyworth's cherry pie.

The Colonel stood, his short black hair fluttering in the ocean breeze, destroying the military aura around the man as strands resettled on his forehead in wind-tousled disarray.  "If you'll excuse me, people, I'll keep an eye on Debi."  He walked off, following after the girl.

"And he needs it too, even if he won't admit it," Blackwood said.

The other two nodded, grins on their faces.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

By the time they finally arrived in Santa Barbara it was dinnertime.  Norton suggested a restaurant just up the street from the resort where they were staying, and after a quiet meal, they returned to check in.

Ironhorse had arranged for them to stay in a small bungalow that was located across the street from the beach and next to the Santa Barbara Bird Refuge.  They carried their luggage into the most isolated quarters the ocean-side resort had to offer.  The bungalow was actually a small house, with four bedrooms, full kitchen, dining room, living room and two baths.  It even had its own Jacuzzi outside, raised so visitors could enjoy a soak while they watched the sun set behind the breakwater, dropping into the deep purple of the Pacific.

Suzanne, Coleman and Debi took one of the rooms, the girl lying down on her bed, falling instantly asleep.  Harrison carried his and Norton's luggage into the smallest of the four bedrooms and tossed it into an empty corner.  The remaining two rooms were divided among the remaining five Omegans and the Colonel, who proceeded to set a watch rotation, then headed out to check the grounds with Derriman.  In the morning they would set up a more permanent security system for the duration of their stay.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Just after seven the next morning, Norton was already busy, setting up his portable computer terminal, using a table in the living room as a workbench.  With the modem and a security program, Drake established a secured link back to the Cray at the Cottage, just in case.  Harrison, eager to meet Dr. Natoras, was urging the Colonel to organize them so they could leave.  Once Norton volunteered to treat Debi to a tour of the UCSB campus, followed by a trip to the Natural History Museum as soon as he finished setting up the link, Ironhorse nodded and assigned Derriman and Alverez to stay with them.  Next, he ordered Coleman, Hickum, and Green to begin a security evaluation, then set up the equipment they'd brought along.  With a grin and a short wave, Stavrakos followed the Colonel, Harrison, and Suzanne out to the Bronco.

At the microbiologist's insistence, they stopped first for coffee and breakfast, then drove up State Street until they found the Arlington Theater.  Several wrong turns on one-way streets later, they found a parking garage, then headed back out to the city's main street to locate the theater again.

"I still don't see why we didn't wait until he was home this afternoon," the Colonel commented as he led the way down the Spanish style sidewalk, decorated with banners and posters all proclaiming, "Viva la Fiesta!"  This was _not_ Ironhorse's idea of a party.

"Colonel, do you realize what this man might be able to tell us?"

"I read the file, Doctor."

"Then you know how important he might be to the Project, and I, for one, am damned interested in what he has to say.  I also want him to know there are people who believe him, and that we're doing something."

Ironhorse scowled at the man.  "Blackwood, I shouldn't have to remind you that this Project is need-to-know, and Natoras does not need to know until I've a chance for a helluva deeper background check than what we've got.  Understand, Doctor?"

"Completely," Harrison replied, but the soldier was not convinced that the man took his warning seriously.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

When they arrived at the downtown theater, Harrison led the way to the inside door, despite the soldier's insistence that Blackwood and Suzanne wait outside until he and Stavrakos checked the building over.

"Come on, Colonel, you're the one who keeps telling me I'm seeing aliens everywhere."

"Besides, why would they be here?" Suzanne asked innocently.  "I doubt they'd be interested in the matinee."

They reached the atrium and Ironhorse forced a stop by stepping in front of the two civilians.  "Look," he told Blackwood, "I might think you see aliens in every shadow, but it's turned out they are there.  So if you'd just slow down a damned minute, we'll check this—"

"Paul," Harrison interrupted, hoping the casual use of the man's first name would soften his resolve, "this is a quiet little city.  No one knows about Natoras' work on the aliens.  Why would they be here?  And this is a vacation, too, remember?  Lighten up."

"I just have a bad feeling about this," Ironhorse said, hating to admit to an unsupported rationale for his unease, but he'd learned over the years to trust his battle sense, and at the moment it was sounding off like an artillery barrage.

Harrison patted the man's shoulder.  "Colonel, I think you're finally getting as paranoid as I am."  With that he walked into the building proper and headed for the doors that opened onto the 300-seat theater.

Blackwood had just started down one of the wide aisles leading to the stage when Ironhorse grabbed the material at the shoulder of his shirt.  The rapidly riling astrophysicist started to say something, but stopped when he read the growing concern on the Colonel's face.  "What is it?" he whispered.

Suzanne stepped closer to the two men.  "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, but there's _something_ wrong here," Ironhorse replied quietly.  He motioned the sergeant to the second aisle and together they started forward, their weapons in hand.

Harrison watched the Colonel's hand reach automatically for the absent Uzi, then back to touch the knife nestled in its sheath along his back while his head swiveled back and forth, looking for something out of place that could explain his discomfort.  When he reached the pit in front of the mahogany stage, Ironhorse froze.  He motioned Blackwood and Suzanne to join him.

Soaking into the red-patterned carpet was the aftermath of an alien abandoning its human host.  The slimy liquid still foamed slightly.  The clothes indicated the victim had been one of the custodial staff.  Ironhorse nodded to the Omegan to search the seats.

The two scientists maneuvered behind the Colonel, who had reached the stage and crouched down, checking and re-checking the seats, sides and balcony.

Blackwood silently thanked Ironhorse for his foresight, bringing the Omega Squad along.  He'd argued they wouldn't need them, but now he was eminently grateful the soldier had refused to listen.  He owed the man an apology when this was over.

Stavrakos returned and shook his head.

After checking along the pit, Ironhorse led them up onto the highly polished stage.  A half-constructed set was scattered across the hardwood floor -- a perfect hiding place for aliens.  It was also a maze, one Ironhorse knew he couldn't drag Harrison and Suzanne through without endangering them.

A faint sound from the rear of the stage caught the soldier's attention as he reached for the cellular phone he carried in a small holder on his belt.  Stavrakos moved closer, taking a position at the rear of the group, while his commander called for reinforcements.

Then they moved together along one side of the set, four pairs of eyes watching for trouble, until they reached the wall at the back of the theater.  Finding nothing but the closed double doors to the green room, Ironhorse paused outside to listen.  His brow wrinkled with recognition.  He held up a hand, pointed a finger to the door and then held up three fingers.

Stavrakos nodded, although he knew the Colonel couldn't see him.

"Let us go in first, but then get your asses in there," Ironhorse whispered to the two scientists.

They nodded.

The sergeant moved up next to his commander.  Ironhorse reached out, gripped the doorknob and prayed it wouldn't make any noise to foil their surprise.  Pulling it open in silence, the two soldiers slipped through, finding three more custodians, all with tell-tale three-digit bruises marring their features, spread out around the room, looking for something or someone.  The two men fired in unison and two of the aliens fell.  The third lunged for cover.

Harrison and Suzanne entered the room as they'd been instructed, the microbiologist saying, "I think I heard more of them out there."

Ironhorse stepped back and herded the two civilians to a corner, the sergeant providing them cover.  Reaching behind his back, Ironhorse removed his battle baton and handed it to Blackwood.  Then, grabbing a folding wardrobe from a stack leaning against the wall, he pulled it open and set it in front of them, growling, "Stay here."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

From behind the screen, Harrison and Suzanne heard a shot ring out, closely followed by another.  The two scientists pressed back into the small, shadow-filled space.  This was not a good situation and they both knew it.  Harrison glanced over his shoulder as it collided with something on the wall.  Behind him a metal ladder ran up to a loft where a series of racks, each crowded with costumes, covered most of the area.  He wasn't sure, but it looked like there was someone up there, moving behind the front row of clothes.  He nodded for Suzanne to look.

More shots rang out and they jumped.  Harrison, unsure why he was taking such a stupid risk, grabbed the ladder rungs and started up.  Suzanne hissed out a colorful curse at the man's action, but followed him – he had the knife after all.

When they reached the loft they could see Ironhorse and Stavrakos moving around the room below, weaving in, out around flats, props and circular costume racks that crowded the floorspace.  They couldn't see any more of the aliens.  Moving together, Harrison and Suzanne entered the narrow space between the first two racks of outfits.

Blackwood clutched the Colonel's long-bladed knife tightly, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.  He stopped suddenly, Suzanne so close she nearly stepped past him.  He snaked out an arm to snare her around the waist, stopping her.  They stared down at the tip of a scuffed brown leather shoe sticking out from under a collection of regal ball gowns.  It twitched occasionally.

"Alien?" Suzanne mouthed. 

Harrison shrugged.  With the tip of his tennis shoe he poked the brown leather.  The toe withdrew beneath a pink ruffle like a turtle's head.  "I'm armed, so come out of there, very slowly," Blackwood commanded in his best Ironhorse imitation.

A soft rustling accompanied movement, then two of the gowns parted to reveal an old man, his grey hair in disarray, and his glasses sitting crooked on a prominent Roman nose.  Demitri Natoras was only as tall as Suzanne, and Harrison guessed that the microbiologist probably weighed more.  The man was also trembling like the proverbial leaf in the wind.

"Dr. Natoras?" Harrison whispered, taking an automatic step back.  He could still be an alien.

The old man nodded.  "Are-are you… one of them?"

"No," Blackwood said.  "Are you?"

Suzanne smiled thinly, remembering a similar exchange between Blackwood and Ironhorse at Ft. Streeter.  Before she could repeat her comment from that day the old man crossed himself.

Harrison noticed it was reversed from the way he'd seen Catholics perform the maneuver.  He filed that away for future investigation.

"God was merciful," Natoras said softly.

The two American scientists exchanged worried looks.  They had no way to be sure the man was still human until they could get back to the Bronco and test him with the Geiger counter.  Once back at the bungalow, they could also run a blood sample for absolute verification, but for the moment they had nothing but instinct to guide them.  The sounds of a firefight breaking out below stopped short Blackwood's musing on what to do with Natoras.  The threesome pulled the costumes aside, staring over the edge of the loft.

Three aliens were flinging props out of their way, trying to reach Ironhorse and Stavrakos.  The sergeant had been hit, and the Colonel was trying to keep the man on his feet and moving, while still defending them against the newly arrived alien reinforcements.  One of the aliens fell, his face destroyed by Ironhorse's well-placed shot.

"Come," the old man said, "we must leave before more arrive.  And we must get down to help them."

Harrison and Suzanne, trusting their instincts, followed the old man as he maneuvered through the racks of costumes to a catwalk at the far end of the loft.  Scurrying across the narrow contraption, Harrison was amazed at how mobile the old man was.

Passing over the action unseen, Harrison realized they were now out of the green room and above the stage area.  In fact, they were above the wall opposite the one they'd traveled down earlier.  Natoras pointed to another ladder at the end of the catwalk and Blackwood handed Suzanne the Colonel's knife, slid past the old man, and descended the rungs.

Before he reached the ground, the door to the green room burst open.  The Colonel and Stavrakos were backing out.  In a natural division of labor, the sergeant watched the stage while Ironhorse remained focused on the action in the green room.

A hail of bullets followed them out.

Ironhorse dropped, rolled, and came up on one knee, firing back into the room.  An alien toppled out onto the stage, already beginning to decompose.

"Two left," Blackwood heard Ironhorse say to Stavrakos as he wrapped a hand around the wounded sergeant's arm, half-dragging him back to the side of the stage below the catwalk.  Depositing Stavrakos in a corner where the younger man could cover part of the space with his M9, the Colonel turned his attention back to the aliens.

Two of the invaders rushed in from the green room, taking cover in the maze of flats and three-dimensional twisted rectangles scattered across the stage.  Ironhorse saw Harrison from the corner of his eye, and darted over to join the Project leader.

"Damn it, Doctor, I told you to stay put."

"We found Natoras," the astrophysicist replied.

"With me," Ironhorse hissed, starting to work his way through the labyrinth.  He weighed their chances.  He had two shots left.  Stavrakos only had one.  If there were no more aliens hiding in the theater, or on their way, they stood a good chance of surviving.  But he knew the remaining pair was maneuvering for a better position.

What the Colonel was unable to see was one of the Mortaxans, blended into the body of a young Hispanic, making his way around the edge of the set in order to come at them from behind.  The wounded sergeant, leaning heavily against the brick wall, was also blind to the maneuver – but from her position with Natoras on the catwalk, Suzanne saw it clearly.

Keeping to the shadows, she sought frantically for some way to warn Harrison and Ironhorse without giving away her position and that of the old scientist.  The second alien, in the body of a slightly older white man, would have no trouble shooting them both if she betrayed their location.

Watching with a growing horror, Suzanne saw Ironhorse and Harrison start forward, advancing on the stationary alien while his companion edged closer to a position directly behind them.  The two aliens both carried semi-automatic weapons. She pointed down the catwalk and whispered to the old man that he should go.  He shook his head, but she pointed, more forcefully, and he complied.  She just hoped he was quiet enough not to attract the attention of the one who had a clear shot.

Looking around a second time for a weapon, Suzanne used the Colonel's knife to cut down a small counter-balance sandbag.  She guessed it weighed about five pounds, and hoped she'd be able to toss it far enough to put the warning sound in the right place.

Taking a deep breath, Suzanne hefted the bag back, focused on a spot on the floor, then threw it with all the force she could.  The weight sailed out in a graceful arc, dropping about three feet shy of the young Hispanic.

Ironhorse spun and fired, killing the human/alien.

The toss forced Suzanne off-balance on the narrow scaffolding, her arms flailing for a handhold.  The knife fell to the floor below with a loud clatter.  The remaining alien turned and fired, the shot raking along her ribs.  She screamed and pitched forward, falling off the catwalk.  A loud crack sounded across the stage, closely followed by a softer _thud_.

Ironhorse growled and charged, scrambling through the flats, knocking them out of his way.  He slid to a stop on his knees, avoiding the volley of bullets that passed over his head as the alien turned its attention from Suzanne to the approaching human.

Harrison stood, yelled loudly and tossed a piece of the canvas and wood set into another, knocking it down and making a racket that caused the alien to jerk its weapon away from the Colonel in reply.

The maneuver gave the soldier the time he needed, and, springing to his feet, he squeezed off his last shot, catching the alien between the eyes.

"Colonel!" Stavrakos' voice called, the tone igniting both men to instant action.

They bolted to where the sergeant had pulled himself over to Suzanne, who lay sprawled on the floor, her left leg obviously broken.  Blood soaked the side of her white shirt and ran out in a small rivulet from under her head.  The Omegan held Ironhorse's knife in one hand, his revolver in the other.  When he saw the Colonel, he let the knife fall to the floor.

"She needs help, sir," he said, then collapsed himself.

Ironhorse felt a cold chill wrap around him, squeezing him with fear and helplessness.  He reached for the cellphone, but it was gone, lost in the battle.  With a shake to clear his head, he took a step back and said, "I'll get an ambulance."

Turning, Ironhorse sprinted for help, leaving Harrison, his face pale and drawn, to move to Suzanne's side as Natoras finally made his way down to join them.  Blackwood looked once at the soldier, but couldn't force himself to leave the microbiologist.

Natoras knelt down, arranging the soldier in a more comfortable position, then looked up at Blackwood, saying, "He will be fine, I think."

"Suzanne?" Harrison whispered, reaching out to push the brown hair off of her face.  There was no response, and the chalky white-grey of her cheeks frightened him.  "Please, Suzanne, hang in there."

"Paramedics are on the way," Ironhorse said, crouching down next to Harrison, letting one hand rest on the taller man's back, hoping it would lend the support he needed.

"She saved our lives, Colonel."

"I know," Ironhorse said quietly.  He looked across at his wounded sergeant.  Stavrakos was breathing normally and his color was good.  He'd be fine.  The old man was with him, too.

The Colonel frowned at the blood pooling on the stage by Suzanne's side.  He moved away from Blackwood to kneel down and gently pull the shirt away from the wound, then, tearing it along the hole the bullet made, he examined the wound.

"Graze," he told the Project leader, adding a heartfelt, "Thank you, Grandfather."

"Here," Harrison said, handing the officer a bandanna he'd pulled from a back pocket.

Ironhorse nodded, using the folded cloth as a compress.  Suzanne groaned slightly when he applied pressure to the wound.  "Shh," he soothed in a tone Harrison had never heard before.

The microbiologist mumbled something incoherent, then tried to move.  She cried out as her leg shifted slightly.  Ironhorse looked at the astrophysicist, the fear in his black eyes undeniable, despite the neutral expression on his face.

Continuing to hold the bandanna against her side, Paul used his free hand to carefully check for other broken bones, speaking softly as he did.  "Easy, Suzanne, don't move.  Just lie still, now.  Very still.  You broke your leg, but it's okay.  It's all over. We're safe.  We got them all, so it's safe.  You're going to be fine.  Help's on the way and we're right here.  It's all right.  We're right here."

Blackwood watched Ironhorse, unsure if he was actually hearing the litany.  The man's voice was calm and soothing, almost hypnotic.  It imparted an undeniable reassurance.  There was much more to Paul Ironhorse than he had ever imagined, Harrison realized.  He felt a tinge of embarrassment, and guilt.  He hadn't expected those depths to be there.  Inside the soldier was a gentle, caring man.

Looking over his shoulder at Blackwood, Ironhorse said in a whisper, "Leg's broken, the graze has stopped bleeding, I think, and I can't find any other broken bones, but the head wound doesn't look good.  Where the hell are those medics?"

Harrison looked up at the catwalk.  He judged the fall to be about twenty feet. Not excessively high, but enough that Suzanne might have a serious neck or back trauma.  He hoped the blood from her torn scalp didn't indicate anything more serious.

Ironhorse glanced up, catching the look.  "We'll let the paramedics move her. They'll have a back board."

Blackwood nodded.

The door opened at the back of the theater.  The soldier scooped up the empty weapon he'd left sitting next to Suzanne, only lowering it when he saw the two medics enter.  "Up here," he called.

The two men trotted down the carpeted aisle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Demitri Natoras sat in a pale blue, overstuffed chair, watching Harrison Blackwood fidget.  First the man had paced, then he settled down on the couch, apparently sleeping, but after a few minutes he'd sat up and grabbed a magazine, flipping through it with no apparent intention of reading.  Finally, Demitri decided it was time to get the man talking, or have a nurse tie him down.

"Excuse me?" he said, a soft Rumanian accent still coloring his speech.

Harrison looked up as though seeing the man for the first time.  "Oh, Dr. Natoras, I'm sorry.  I've been totally remiss—"

"You know who I am?"

"Oh, yes, I know quite a bit about you."

The old man suddenly felt afraid.  "And who are you?"

"Harrison, Harrison Blackwood."  Rising, he walked over and sat down on the chair across from the old man.  Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees, he explained, "My adoptive father, Dr. Clayton Forrester, was involved in a very special project back in 1953, the Ezekiel Project.  I understand you were involved in a similar project in the Soviet Union at the same time."

Demitri nodded.  He'd heard of the American team who was also studying the aliens, but the Cold War had kept the two governments from exchanging information and contacts.  It was also clear that Blackwood and the others knew who, and what, the aliens were.  He'd been startled at first, not realizing the creatures could take on human form, but a few short sentences in their native language had told him exactly what they were.  It was a sound he knew he could never forget.  "I see," was all he said.

"I came here to talk to you.  I was hoping you might be able to fill in some of the blanks in Dr. Forrester's notes."

"I'm afraid I have none of my research."

Harrison nodded his understanding.  "I want your mind, Doctor.  I just want some of your time, to talk, speculate.  As you can see, we haven't gotten rid of them.  In fact, I'm afraid it's just beginning again."

"I think you've earned that.  You and your friends saved my life, and now that lovely young woman has been hurt.  I had hoped we had seen the end of them."

At the mention of Suzanne, a distracted worry took over Harrison's expression.

Demitri decided that it wasn't good for him to let the younger man brood – he seemed too inclined to do that on his own.  "I'm sure she will be fine," Natoras reassured, patting Blackwood's knee.

Harrison looked back and nodded.  "I hope so – for all our sakes.  She's very important to us."

Ironhorse walked in to join them.  "Any news?"

"Not yet."

He scowled at the woman at the nurses' station.  Suzanne had been admitted over six hours ago.  He turned back to Blackwood.  "The theater's been cleaned up. I called General Wilson and had some men from Vandenberg Air Force Base sent down.  They'll monitor the building for a few days.  I also called Norton and told him what's happening."

"Debi?" Harrison asked.

"Debi was swimming.  We decided to hold off telling her anything until we had some news he could pass on.  At least the bungalow's quiet."

Harrison nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Colonel Ironhorse?"

The Colonel, who had been sleeping in one of the stuffed chairs, was immediately awake and on his feet.  He blinked twice before he realized that it was a physician who'd called his name.  "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Ramirez," the tall Hispanic man said, extending a hand.

The Colonel shook it.  The man was ex-military, Ironhorse thought, noticing the way he stood, nearly at attention as he spoke.  The man's short hair and general bearing inclined him to the same conclusion.

"I worked on Alexander Stavrakos."

"How is he?" Paul asked.

"Just fine.  The bullet passed through his side, but didn't hit anything vital.  A lucky young man.  We cleaned it up and have him on some strong antibiotics.  He's resting comfortably.  I think a full recovery's insured, if he takes it easy."

Ironhorse nodded, a small smile spreading across his face.  He liked Stavrakos.  The man was a good soldier and he'd be sorely missed if they lost him.

"Are you in the military?" the physician asked.

"Yes," Ironhorse replied.

"I thought so.  He wanted me to tell 'the colonel' he'd be back to duty in a day or two," Ramirez explained.  "I think a week or two is more likely, and then light duty for a couple more."

"Do you know anything about our other colleague, Suzanne McCullough?"

The man shook his head, realizing how worried the Colonel was.  "Dr. Harjo was just finishing up when I left.  I'm sure it won't be long before you hear something."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Ramirez nodded to Ironhorse, then left.

An exhausting hour later, Harrison and Ironhorse stood to meet the physician who'd treated Suzanne.  In her early forties, the woman was striking.  Tall, with long black hair tied up in a loose bun at the back of her head, the high cheekbones, black eyes, and red-brown skin gave her away.  Ironhorse met her gaze, a silent acknowledgement of a shared heritage and struggle passing between them.  She smiled reassuringly when they asked in unison, "How is she?"

"Let's sit down, gentlemen."

Walking over to the couch, the doctor sat and waited until they were settled across from her.  "Suzanne was a very lucky woman.  The bullet wound was just a graze.  The orthopedic surgeon we brought in said the leg was a clean break and there shouldn't be any complications.  That's casted already."

"But there's more," Ironhorse interjected.

The woman nodded.  "I'm a neurologist.  They called me in because when Suzanne fell, she didn't just land on her leg.  When the bone broke, she was thrown forward, striking the right side of her head.  Her skull was fractured.  It's very minute, but we're monitoring her closely for any cerebral edema – that's a fluid build-up or bleeding inside the skull."

Both men paled noticeably.

"That's not unexpected, given the injury.  I'm optimistic, however.  She isn't in a coma, just sleeping, and that's a very good sign."

"When can we see her?" Harrison asked.

"Not for another twelve hours, at least."

Ironhorse nodded.  "How soon will we know something?  If she slips into a coma, or if the pressure flares—"

Blackwood turned a startled eye on his friend.  The man was a well of neverending surprises.

Dr. Harjo continued, "It's true her condition could change at any time, but I'm afraid staying here isn't going to help.  If you'll leave a number we'll contact you if there is any change.  Get some sleep; you'll feel better in the morning, and it won't do Suzanne any good to see you two looking tired and worried."

They nodded their agreement.

They stopped for dinner, although none of them were hungry.  After leaving half their food on their plates, Ironhorse drove them back to the hotel in silence, each working through his own thoughts.  Natoras had readily agreed to stay with them until they discovered why the aliens had come after him at the theater.

"She'll be fine.  I can feel it," Harrison said, breaking the silence they'd maintained from the restaurant to the resort.

"She is doing better than I expected," Ironhorse replied.  He parked and headed for the bungalow, nodding to Alverez as they passed his position.

Norton wheeled up as they entered, his expression telling the Project members they were in for more bad news.

"It's about time.  How's Suzanne?"

"Holding her own," Harrison said, slumping down into the closest chair in the living room.  "She took a pretty nasty blow to the head.  The neurologist sounded hopeful.  We'll know more tomorrow.  Oh, and this is Dr. Demitri Natoras.  Demitri, Norton Drake, our computer and communications man."

"Glad to meet you," Drake said.

The old man nodded.

"I'm afraid I have more bad news," Norton added.

Ironhorse walked over to the table that had been converted into Drake's computer work station.  "What is it?"

"While you were at the hospital, I picked up _four_ transmissions – one near the theater, in the public library, actually.  One from a location just off the coast.  One from the foothills, near the Santa Barbara mission, and the last from someplace in South America.  The computer's still trying to track that one down."

The Colonel rubbed at the tension knotting along the back of his neck.  "What the hell're they doing?"

Drake rolled the wheelchair back, making room for the three men who were converging on the computer.  "Do you think they followed us?"

"Unlikely," Ironhorse said, beginning to pace.  "Where's Omega?"

"Two on patrol, two sleeping, and Sergeant Coleman's at the hospital as a security backup, just like you requested."

The Colonel nodded.  His men knew what to do.  "Debi?"

"She's sleeping.  We had a busy day, too.  She started nodding off right after dinner so I told her to hit the hay early.  I didn't have the heart to tell her anything, especially without knowing anything concrete."

"We should tell her.  Now," Blackwood said.

Ironhorse nodded.

"Do you want me to?" the astrophysicist asked.

"No," Paul said softly.  "I'll do it.  I've had some practice with this sort of thing."  He took a deep breath, held it a moment, then headed down the hall toward the bedroom, his walk unusually stiff.

"I wouldn't want to be in his boots right now," Drake said.

Blackwood nodded his agreement, realizing that one of the responsibilities that came with Ironhorse's command was contacting the families of the men and women who died while serving under him.  The burden of that duty weighed heavily on the astrophysicist's mind as he heard the doorknob turn down the hall.  He listened to the Colonel enter the girl's bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 _And who came to Ironhorse to offer support, or a word of thanks?_ he wondered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Paul opened the door and entered the girl's room.  Standing just inside he paused, wondering how he should proceed.  It was one thing to talk to a man's parents, or even his wife, but a child?  He felt his jaws grind in frustration.   _Damn the aliens for ever coming here.  And damn them for hurting someone like Suzanne_.

"Colonel?"

He started slightly at the sound of the girl's voice.  She wasn't supposed to be awake.  "Yes, Debi, it's me."

"Is something wrong?  Where's Mom?"

Ironhorse walked over to the bed, content to leave them in the semi-darkness.   It was easier to talk when the lights were off.  Even in the jungle, it was the cover of darkness that loosened tongues.  A dull yellow light from the lamps scattered around the grounds crept in past the thin curtains, illuminating the room well enough for him to read the concern on her face.  "Debi, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"It's Mom, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"She's been hurt?"  The thirteen-year-old sat up in bed, her voice a quiet whisper.  "Will she be all right?"

"The doctor thinks so, but—"

"No promises, right?" she finished.

"No, no promises, Debi."

"Can I go see her?"

"I don't know, maybe tomorrow.  They wouldn't let Harrison or me in to see her until tomorrow morning.  We can ask the doctor then if you can go in, too."

They sat in silence for several seconds before the girl asked, "What happened?"

"Your mother saved my life.  Harrison's, too.  She stopped one of the terrorists from sneaking up behind us.  Another one shot at her and she took a bad fall.  The fall's what hurt her.  The shot was only a graze, but she broke her leg and hit her head."

The girl was silent for several moments, then asked, "You mean the aliens did it, don't you?"

Debi's voice was so low he wasn't sure he'd heard her right, but the defiant glare that held his gaze challenged him to lie to her even in the darkness.  He nodded.  "I've wondered if you'd figure it out on your own."

Her lips pressed together and she nodded.  He watched as her eyes filled with unshed tears.  "Is she going to die?" she whispered.

Ironhorse looked away as the first tears spilled down the girl's cheeks.  Red-hot anger exploded in his heart.  He hated the aliens.  He hated the fact a good person like Suzanne had to be put in danger in order to make their planet safe from outside invaders.  And he especially hated that Debi too was a victim of this war.

"I can't answer that, Debi.  With all my heart I pray she isn't.  The doctor was optimistic, so we'll have to be, too."

The girl nodded.  Scooting closer to the Colonel, she wrapped her arms around the soldier's torso and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.  He folded his arms around her and let his own cheek rest on the top of her head.  "You're a very brave young woman, Debi.  When your mom's home, we'll talk about the aliens.  I think it's time you knew what we're doing."

"You mean I need to know?"

He smiled thinly.  "Yes, Debi, you need to know."

She nodded against his shoulder and he felt the tears soaking the material, spreading a cool circle against his skin.

"Mom wouldn't want me to cry like a little kid," she said, her voice hoarse.  "Are you and Harrison okay?"

He hugged her tighter, then reached up to cup her head with one palm.  "Yes, we're fine," he whispered, his own voice rough.

He felt the first sob that shook her, but Debi held it back.  Moving his hands to her shoulders, he pushed her back far enough to look into her blue eyes.  "Debi, there is no shame in tears.  Don't be afraid to cry.  It's normal.  It doesn't make you any less brave or grown up."

She looked into his black eyes and saw the moisture shining there in the pale light.  "I'm scared," she said simply, crying the tears she needed to.  "I don't want Mom to die."

"Me either, sweetheart."  He gathered her close again, holding her as the emotions ran their course, allowing his own tears to dampen her pale yellow hair.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Colonel?"

Ironhorse rolled over, awake.  "Suzanne?"

"The doctor called," Harrison said.  "She's awake, Paul."

"Awake?"

"Dr. Harjo said we could see her if we keep it short.  She's going to be fine."  The silly smile on the astrophysicist's face was infectious and a crooked grin spread across the Colonel's face.

"Thank you, Grandfather."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The floor nurse refused to allow Debi to see her mother until Dr. Harjo gave her permission.  Normally, no one under the age of sixteen was permitted to visit patients on the ward.  Norton and the girl left to see if they could track the physician down while Harrison slipped in to see Suzanne while Ironhorse checked on Stavrakos.

The microbiologist was sleeping again, and Blackwood sat down in the visitor's chair near the window, waiting.  Twenty minutes later the Colonel pushed the door open and entered.

"How's the sergeant?" Harrison asked.

"Fine.  He'll be back to full duty in a month.  He's not too happy about missing the rest of this vacation, though."

Harrison smiled and nodded.  "Uh, Colonel?" he said, watching as Ironhorse moved to the side of Suzanne's bed, looking down at the woman.  The personal responsibility the soldier felt flashed across his face, quickly reined in so it only showed in his eyes.  "I haven't had a chance to thank you," he continued.  "You saved our lives at the theater.  I talked to Dr. Natoras yesterday while we were waiting for news on Suzanne; he's going to give us some valuable information."

Ironhorse nodded.  "I'm glad.  But I didn't do a very good job of protecting Suzanne."

"Colonel, you and Sergeant Stavrakos fought off, what, six or seven aliens?  You can't be everywhere at once.  And since you don't wear red tights and a big 'S' on your chest, I don't think you should blame yourself for a situation you couldn't have predicted.  If this is anyone's fault, it's mine.  I should've listened to you to begin with.  If I'd let you and Stavrakos check the building first, Suzanne wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"As you said, Doctor, there's little use in either of us blaming ourselves.  There was no predicting that we'd run into aliens."  Ironhorse hoped his words would help Blackwood, but he still felt responsible for the woman's injuries.  He was the head of security; he wasn't supposed to make mistakes, although he knew they were inevitable.  "I just wish it hadn't been Suzanne who had to pay for my humanity," he said softly.

Harrison stood and walked to the opposite side of the bed, watching the Colonel's expression.  "She knew what she was getting into.  We all do."

"I realize that.  I just wish…"  He trailed off.

"What?" Harrison asked, his voice as soft as Paul's so they wouldn't disturb the microbiologist's sleep.

"I don't like the fact Suzanne is out there, Doctor.  It isn't right.  She shouldn't be forced into situations that require her to use deadly force, or face it used on her."

The astrophysicist's brow furrowed.  "You mean because she's a woman?"

"I mean because she's not a soldier.  She's a mother, a damned good scientist… a beautiful woman with a life ahead of her that shouldn't have been twisted up like this because of the damned aliens."

"Suzanne is a very capable woman, Colonel."

"I know that, Doctor.  She's saved my butt on more than one occasion, but she's not a soldier, and I don't like it when she ends up on the front lines.  She's too important for that.  And so are you, for that matter.  This is _my_ job."

"We can take care of ourselves."

"It's okay, Harrison," Suzanne said.  "He's talking personal, not political."  The two men looked down at Suzanne McCullough's small smile.  Her dark eyes regarded them both with affection.

"You were listening?" Ironhorse asked, his face beginning to go red.

"It was a little hard _not_ to," she countered.

"She has a point," Blackwood said, reaching out to pat her arm.  "It's good to see you awake, Suzanne."

"Except for a headache that puts every hangover I've ever had to shame, it's good to be awake.  How is everyone?"

Ironhorse listed the information off with an air of authority, regaining control of the situation.  "Sergeant Stavrakos is going to be fine.  Dr. Natoras was unharmed, and he and Blackwood seem to be getting along; but give the man a few days to see how weird—"  He nodded at the taller, curly-headed man.  "—he is and that might change.  Everyone else is just worried about you."

"And Debi?"

"She was frightened," he told her.  "But she accepted that fear and didn't let it control her.  She's a very strong young lady, Suzanne.  You can be proud of her."

Suzanne smiled at the compliment.  It was high praise coming from Ironhorse, and she decided she'd have to tell Debi about it.  "Can I see her?"

"She and Norton are tracking Dr. Harjo down right now to get permission for Deb to come in," Harrison explained.  "Seems she's underage."

Suzanne rolled her eyes.

"Suzanne," Ironhorse said.  "What you did… it saved our lives.  I wanted to say thank you."

"Paul," she said, reaching her hand up as far as she could.  She was weaker than she realized.

He took her hand in his and gave it a short squeeze.

"You've done the same for us more times than I can count," she said.  "We're a team, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"No 'buts.'  We do what we have to.  I might not have gone to boot camp, but this is a war, and I'm a soldier of sorts."

"Yes, you are," he said.

A soft knock at the door broke through the silence.  It cracked open and Norton wheeled in halfway.  "Hey, time for a changing of the guard, guys."

The two men nodded.  "We'll see you later," Harrison said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.  "Get well – _fast_.  We miss you."

"Thanks."  She nodded at her leg, encased in a pristine white cast.  "I have a feeling all hopes of sailing, swimming, and water skiing have been torpedoed."

Ironhorse held the door open, allowing Norton and Debi in.

"Mom!" Debi enthused.  "Wow, that's a big cast!  Can I sign it first?"

"Sure, Chicken.  And thanks for reminding me, kid-o."

"Blackwood, let's go.  Oh, and Suzanne," the Colonel said, "we might be able to do something about that sailing."

She looked at the man, disbelief clear on her face.  "You, sail, Colonel?"

"I've been known to manipulate a sheet or two," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"An accident?  You're telling me that was a fluke?"

Norton rolled past Harrison, nodding emphatically.  "Yes."

"I don't buy it," Ironhorse argued.

"Look," Norton said, jerking Gertrude around to face the two men.  "Let me explain it to you once more.  The first transmission was from the library.  I did some checking, and one of the archivists has been missing for four days."

"Okay, so an alien took over the archivist," Harrison said.  "How does that tie into Dr. Natoras?"

"Was that Mr. Cooper?" the old man asked.

Norton nodded.

"God have mercy on his soul.  Mr. Cooper was the man who did my interview for the journal article, Harrison, several months ago."

Blackwood sat down, nodding.  "So, the aliens were here, looking for you."

"I don't think so," Drake said.

"Why?" the Colonel questioned.

"Because of the other transmissions, they have nothing to do with Dr. Natoras.  One was at the mission.  Now, I 'borrowed' the police department's computer here and it seems that one of the graves at the mission was broken into… four days ago."

"Anything taken?" Ironhorse asked.

Norton nodded.  "It was the grave of a Chumash Indian, a leader of one of the groups who lived on the Channel Islands.  He converted to Christianity, so when he died, they buried him at the mission as a reward for his missionary work among his tribe here along the coast."

"What did they take?" Harrison asked, leaning forward.

"That's the weird thing.  The people at the mission don't know exactly.  It seems that the man was buried in a combination native and Catholic service.  The Indians placed several items in the coffin, and they think it was one of those artifacts that might have been taken."

"Have you checked to see if there is a record of what was buried in that coffin?"

"The Cray has dug through all the databases available.  There's no record of the contents that's made it to a computer file."

Harrison nodded, excitement shining in his eyes.  "But there might be handwritten lists somewhere."

Nodding, Norton added, "And the transmission from South America was from a new pyramid site some archaeologists have found in Brazil.  They also reported a break-in on the site, and an artifact was stolen.  But only one, and they had a pile of stuff they'd found."

"What did they take?" the Colonel asked.

"It was described as a solid black cube, with nine-inch sides, and made of, I quote, 'an unidentified substance, probably mineral in origin.'"

"I don't know what it is, but this is big," Harrison said.  "I don't like it."

Ironhorse nodded.  "What about the transmission from the boat?" he asked.

Drake shrugged.  "I don't know.  It seemed to be a central contact point, the headquarters, maybe?"

"I don't like it either," Ironhorse said.  "Mr. Drake, put together a file on everything you can turn up on the stolen artifact.  Doctor, we need to see if we can locate a description of what was in the gravesite here."

Blackwood nodded.  "What're they up to?"

"No good," Natoras said softly.

Ironhorse nodded.  "Doctor, I'm afraid we'll be a part of your life for a little longer than we'd planned."

The old man nodded.  "That's quite all right.  I'd like to help any way I can."

The team leader stood, rubbing his hands together.  "All right, let's get busy. We can swing by and see Suzanne on our way to the library."

Ironhorse nodded.  "Tell Coleman she and Green are to see to it that Debi has a good time."

The black man grinned.  "You got it.  I'm sure they'll be thrilled."

Ironhorse led the way to the door.  Harrison and Natoras followed, Derriman bringing up the rear, taking over Stavrakos' job of backing up the Colonel.

"Whatever they're doing, they'll make a mistake sooner or later," Harrison said.

"I hope you're right, Blackwood."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The Blackwood Project members sat in the Cottage living room, sharing a round of Norton's special blended coffee after dinner.  Suzanne was still in her cast, but the doctor promised it could come off in a week.  Demitri Natoras was still in Santa Barbara, back to decorating sets and accepting calls from Harrison on a regular basis.

They each knew they were on the trail of something important, but they had no clue as to where it would lead.  After several days of painstaking research, Harrison and the old scientist had located a list of the items in the Chumash grave.  The stolen artifact was a solid black rectangle, nine inches long, and six inches wide. The man who made out the report thought it was some form of obsidian he'd never encountered before.

"Where do we go with this?" Suzanne finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Blackwood said.

"I'm monitoring for any similar thefts," Norton offered.

"I'm sure we'll know soon enough," Ironhorse said.


End file.
